When the Night Has Come
by PollyCrackers
Summary: Yep, another post-"Stan by Me" story. I'm weak, and couldn't resist.
1. When the Night Has Come

**Yet another post-"Stan by Me" fic trying to answer the question 'What happens when Marshall finds out what happened in the basement'?**

Stan and Marshall led Mary through the ransacked house, shielding her from the curious and concerned eyes of the cops who swarmed the place. Stan left his inspectors near the SUV to speak with Detective Dershowitz. Marshall took advantage of the moment alone to pull Mary into a strong embrace, resting his chin atop the tangle of blond hair. Amazingly, somewhere beneath the blood and grime and sweat, he could still catch the scent of her. The cool desert air against her damp skin caused her to shiver, prompting Marshall to lead her to the rear of the truck, where he sat her down on the bumper and draped a spare jacket around her shoulders.

"Mary? Mare?" Marshall called her name several times before she seemed to hear him, looking up at him as though she wasn't even sure who he was. Or who she was, for that matter. "I'm going to get the medics to come take a look at you, okay?"

Mary shook her head. "No, Marshall. I'm fine."

He lifted her chin, forcing her look at him. "That may be the biggest load of bull you've ever tried to sell me," he said softly. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Humor me, Mary." He whistled and waved over the waiting medics. "I'm going to be right over there with Stan while they check you out, okay?" Mary nodded weakly.

Marshall met up with Stan and Bobby D. while Mary reluctantly submitted to the medics' ministrations.

"Marshall," said Stan. "Detective Dershowitz has agreed to come down to the Sunshine Building to take Mary's statement. Try to keep this as low-profile as possible." Marshall kept his eyes fixed on his partner. "Marshall? Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, I heard you. Statement, Sunshine, Bobby D—Got it." He walked away.

The medics were just finishing up when Marshall returned to be with Mary. "She's going to be sore as hell, and headachy from the chloroform, but she's going to be okay," the medic assured him. Seeing his partner slumped against the door frame, Marshall wasn't too sure.

"Thanks, man," he muttered as the medic packed his gear and left. Marshall reached out to tuck a strand of golden hair behind Mary's ear. She looked up at him uncertainly, pursing her lips as though she had something to say but wasn't sure how to say it. "Mary, what is it?"

Stan interrupted before she could answer. "We ready to go?"

Mary nodded and Marshall helped her to her feet. Stan held open the car door. "Here, Marshall, you ride in back with her," he said, as though Marshall had any intention of leaving her side.

Mary sat stiffly in the backseat as Stan started the car and pulled into the street. Marshall knew her defenses were rebuilding, was torn between her need to draw into herself and his need to know what happened in that basement. "Mary," he said, lifting her face to look at him. He paused, not wanting to ask the question, afraid of the answer. But he couldn't un-hear the shout of that little bastard to "have his turn," and certainly couldn't un-see the dead guy in the basement with the unzipped fly. "Mare, did they...hurt you?"

She tried to look away. "No. I mean…it's like the medic told you…."

"That's not what I'm asking, Mary," Marshall said, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "That guy you shot"—Mary eyes squeezed shut against the image replaying in her mind—"did he _hurt_ you?"

Her face crumpled in response, not just to the question, but to the emotion she heard in her partner's voice. Marshall Mann, who could crack wise with a sucking chest wound, was choked up. Over her. She swallowed hard, unable to break contact with those deep blue eyes. Blue eyes pained by the sight of something breaking, collapsing, flooding within his partner. The facade of kick-ass U.S. Marshal Mary Shannon tumbled down. "He tried...he tried to..." she stumbled on the words. "He tried to rape me."

Stan slammed his fists into the steering wheel.

Marshall's stomach seemed to drop somewhere below the Earth's crust even as bile rose in his throat. "Turn the car around, Stan. I'm going to shoot the bastard myself."

"Don't tempt me," Stan replied through clenched teeth.

"Oh my god, Marshall. Oh my god," she sobbed. Then, frantically, "Stop the car, Stan--stop the car!"

Stan did as ordered. Mary threw the door open with such force she would have tumbled onto the pavement were it not for her partner's arm around her waist. Marshall held back her hair for long minutes as she heaved little more than bile onto the dusty asphalt.

Watching his step, Stan appeared with a handful of tissues and a bottle of water.

"All empty?" asked Marshall, stroking her back.

She nodded weakly. "I think so." She wiped at her mouth with the proffered tissue.

"Drink this, you're dehydrated," Stan said, uncapping the water bottle. "Small sips, though."

Marshall pulled Mary back into the truck, and she allowed herself to stay tucked in her partner's arms. Marshall and Stan exchanged troubled glances before Stan shut the door and they were back on the highway.

Though she was quiet, Marshall could feel the tears dampening his shirt. "Hey, you're safe now. You fought your way out of a bad situation and you're safe now." He slowly rubbed circles on her back.

"Don't leave," she murmured into his chest.

"That would involve jumping out of a speeding vehicle. A poor decision on my part." Marshall deadpanned.

The sliver of normality comforted Mary, and she responded with a pinch to his arm. But, still. "Please, Marshall."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, placing a kiss on the top of her head. "Never."

Mary pulled her legs up, curling into Marshall's lap.

They stayed that way for the rest of the ride to the Sunshine Building, one marshal wrapped in the arms of the other.

**Ta-Da!**


	2. I Won't Be Afraid

Stan parked the SUV, sighing as he turned back to check on his inspectors. Mary's sobs had quieted, thought she still clung to fistfuls of Marshall's shirt. Marshall rested his head atop his partner's, slowly combing his fingers through her hair; his eyes focused on a spot very far away. Stan felt a twinge of sadness that he couldn't be a part of the tableau; that he couldn't hold them both and shield them from the evil in the world. He didn't have kids; what he had was Mary and Marshall. What he would do if he lost either one of them, Stan didn't know. "Marshall," he whispered, "here." Stan held out the car keys. "I'll wait for you inside."

Mary breathed quietly and steadily in his arms, and to Marshall it seemed he could tangibly feel his partner's fortress rebuilding. Up go the walls, brick by brick. The drawbridge is raised, the hungry crocodiles released into the moat.

Marshall wondered which side of the moat he was on.

"You ready?" he asked.

She brushed a tendril of hair off of tear-dampened cheeks. "Yeah, yeah. Let's do this." Mary climbed out of the backseat. Marshall followed and locked the doors. Before they could cross the lot, Mary stopped Marshall with a hand on his arm. "Wait, Marshall," the furrow between her brows deepened as she looked for the right words. Marshall was so obnoxiously good at reading her mind; why wasn't he doing it now? "I'm not…I mean…." She took a breath, "Could you just do me a favor, an odd one, without me having to explain it?"

"You're an odd girl; I expect odd things."

A tiny smile, then a whisper, but matter-of-fact. "Kiss me."

Of the hundred things he thought she might ask of him, this was not even on the list. Marshall stood silent, unsure what to make of the request. Any other time, he would have gladly taken her face in his hands, leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. The rustle of Mary's jacket sliding down her arms snapped Marshall out of his reverie. She took his hand and placed it over her left shoulder. "Kiss me here."

"I don't get it."

"You don't have to get it. _I _get it. It's, like, for luck."

"Of course," Marshall said. His mind tried to make a connection between what could have happened in that basement and Mary's request, but came up empty. "Who hasn't heard of the good luck shoulder kiss?" The moment the words left his lips, he regretted them; this was not the time for the usual banter.

Mary scowled. "Fine, then. I don't need your cooties or whatever anyhow."

She tried to pull away, but Marshall held fast to her arm, and she was pulled towards him instead. "Mi cooties es su cooties." he said. With a gentle squeeze, he placed a chaste kiss on her shoulder, which he followed with one on her forehead.

She leaned into him and he held her tenderly. "Come on," she said, pulling away. "Let's get this over with."


	3. Whenever You're In Trouble

**A/N: My apologies--this chapter is mostly a whole lotta setup for not so much payoff. Alas, it just didn't work out like I'd hoped--but I had to get to the next chapter somehow.**

The four lawmen sat in the WITSEC conference room. Bobby D and Mary sat at one end of the table, a recorder between them. Stan and Marshall sat behind Mary in chairs against the wall.

Marshall's heart pounded against his ribcage as he listened to Mary give her statement to Bobby D. Five minutes alone with this "Spanky" character was all he needed. Hell, it would only take a split-second to pull the trigger; of course, beating the shit out of him would be much more satisfying.

Mary recounted the crimes against her one by one. From her tone she could have been recalling nothing more serious than the errands she'd run that day.

"He found out I was a marshal."

_Going to have to make time to beat the crap out of that FBI prick, as well_, thought Marshall.

Mary continued. "He told Louis to 'solve the problem' and make sure nobody ever found me. Then Spanky left Louis and me alone. He—Louis—unzipped his jacket. Told me he wasn't a monster, that we would have some fun, that I would 'die happy.'"

Her detachment was as distressing as the facts. Marshall looked up; even Bobby D. seemed pale as a muscle twitched in his jaw. The detective's arm lay across the table, as though he meant to reach out and touch Mary, then thought better of it. An open hand, just in case she needed one to hold. _She won't take it, man—but you're a good man to offer, _thought Marshall. He liked that guy.

"He kicked the chair away and slammed me against the post. He pulled my hips against him. I could feel he was...aroused. He started to lick my shoulder." Mary paused and lowered her head. She knew her partner sat behind her, connecting the dots, understanding the favor she'd asked downstairs.

Marshall's head dropped to his hands. Stan placed a reassuring hand on his inspector's shoulder.

"I made him think I wanted it," Mary continued. "I told him I wanted to look at him while he did it. He let me turn around enough that I was able to head-butt him.

"Everything slowed down. I was turning, trying to get the damn bolt free, and he was yelling that 'I was going to suffer now.' The bolt finally came free and I ducked just as he swung the shovel and I heard it hit the post. I got my gun out of my ankle holster and he was coming back at me and I shot him." Mary stopped her narration. A speck on the table had suddenly captured her attention and she scraped at it with a fingernail.

"Inspector Shannon? Do you need a minute?" asked Detective Dershowitz.

"No, no. I'm fine," Mary said. Bobby D. found the red-rimmed eyes and hoarse voice unconvincing. Mary continued her story nonetheless. "I fired at the other guy who kidnapped me—he'd come down the stairs, but then he was gone and it seemed like the whole room was exploding. I'd emptied my gun, so when I heard footsteps on the stairs I grabbed the shovel. Lucky for Stan, he's got really good reflexes." Mary nervously pulled her fingers through her hair. "I don't even remember seeing Marshall. I just…the shovel fell, and I thought I was going to hit the floor, but I didn't, 'cause he was there, holding me up." The speck drew her attention again for a moment, then she looked up. "That's pretty much it. Do you need anything else?"

"That's plenty for now," said Bobby D as he gathered up the equipment. "I wouldn't mind a word with Inspector McQueen, though."

Stan and the detective stayed behind as Mary and Marshall left the room.

"I'm sorry, Marshall." Mary said, leaning against Marshall's desk. She scanned the room full of evidence: photos, maps, rap sheets. She felt lucky; they'd done good work.

"What could you possibly think you have to apologize for?"

The words stumbled out haphazardly. "I should have told you downstairs…about why I asked you to…." She stopped and took a breath. "You deserved to have not found out that way."

"No worries, my ever eloquent partner," said Marshall. Mary rolled her eyes in response. "I'm just glad you didn't ask me to kiss your ass."

Mary punched her partner in the arm.


	4. Stand By Me

Marshall watched the elevator doors close on Agent Asshole; he leaned against the wall, watching his partner. The vulnerable creature he'd held in arms just a couple hours ago seemed to have vanished, replaced by something similar to but not quite the same as his old partner. The change was welcome; its speed, unsettling. Tears came unbidden at the memory of her trembling in his arms. He tried to blink them back, hoping Mary wouldn't notice.

As though Mary ever failed to notice anything. "Marshall?" she asked softly.

"Mary, I'm sorry. So sorry." His eyes rose to meet hers. What she saw there broke her heart. Fourteen hours she'd hung from the post in that basement. Fourteen hours of scheming and waiting and fearing. The only certain thing? What Marshall was doing: stopping at nothing to find her. It was only now that she realized what he'd been feeling. She'd felt it herself, in that damned dusty diner, and the memory only added another horror to the day. She reached past her partner and punched the emergency stop button.

They stood a breath apart. All the things she felt and all the words she wanted to say formed a flurry in her head that refused to settle. Mary and Marshall stood silently for long moments. Till, of their own volition, her fingers reached under the lapel of his jacket. Marshall's eyes shifted from her face to her fingers, back and forth, trying to understand. Through the fabric of his shirt, she could felt it—a jagged ridge disappearing beneath his undershirt.

Her palm flattened against his chest. Unable to gather her own words, she recycled some old ones. "I will try--" she said. "I will try to not get kidnapped again. For you."

Marshall chuckled softly. "I'd appreciate that."

"Thought you might. 'Cause that whole not knowing if your partner's going to be okay thing, it really sucks." Tears filled her eyes as her voice threatened to falter. " I think I'd rather be in that basement than in that diner."

Marshall took her firmly by the shoulders. "Please don't say that. Don't even joke it."

"Then," she sighed. "Then, just don't get shot again, and it won't be an issue, okay?"

"As long as you can manage to not get kidnapped."

"Did you not hear me? I already said I'd try." She reached behind his head and pulled him towards her, placing a kiss on his cheek. ''Besides, I know you'll always find me," she whispered in his ear.

Marshall allowed himself to be pulled into his partner's embrace; his arms wrapped around her as she tucked his head in the crook of her neck. Mary smoothed back brown hair dampened by her tears. "You are such a girl," she said playfully in response to the small sob that escaped her partner's lips.

Marshall squeezed her tight, grateful to be cracking wise with his partner once again.

Four and a half floors up, Stan cursed under his breath. Was the friggin' elevator really stuck?—again?

**A/N: Thanks so much for stopping by to read and for all the positive feedback -- reviews will only encourage me to write more!**


	5. Epilogue

**A/N - Folks seemed to want a little more of the story, so here goes. This basically imagines the story up to the point when we see Mary and Marshall in the car at the beginning of "A Fine Meth." I've got ideas for as story tied into that episode churning, which I'll hopefully be posting soon, if I can get my muse on board. Remember, reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy!**

Marshall could feel the exhaustion seeping from his partner's form. Reluctantly, he broke their embrace. "Let's get you home."

He pulled the emergency stop and the elevator resumed its downward journey. A comfortable silence settled between the marshals, following them as the elevator door whooshed open and they crossed the lobby; it then broke as they stepped into the cool desert night. From above they heard banging and then a yell.

"Marshals!"

Mary and Marshall looked up to see Agent Asshole waving from the seventh-story balcony. "Oh, look. Our favorite FBI agent; seems Stan must have decided to show him the balcony." Marshall said to Mary. Then, to the man on the balcony: "Agent O'Connor! Hi!" Marshall waved. "Beautiful evening, no?"

"There will be consequences for this!" hollered the agent. He let loose with an expletive-laced rant, focused mostly on what exactly he was going to do once he was no longer locked out on the balcony.

The diatribe from above ran on.

"You know, he dug up all the dirt on your family," Marshall said to Mary, keeping an eye on the FBI man, because he was so gosh-darn entertaining.

"Hm," replied Mary. She shrugged her shoulders. "That's not all that surprising. Annoying, but not surprising."

"Said your father was a fugitive bank robber."

"That's hardly news. "

"I think he thought I wouldn't know that."

The marshals' out-of-earshot conversation further stoked Agent Asshole's fury. Which further amused the marshals.

Mary continued the conversation. "Weasel like him, probably doesn't have a friend to get drunk with and spill secrets to."

"For the record, I wasn't drunk with you, I was with you when you were drunk."

"Technicality. And it was my birthday, besides. Anyhow, the point is that he just doesn't get the concept of the BFF."

"What, are we suddenly 12-year-old girls? Call me your BFF again, and we are not BFFs anymore."

Mary sulked. "Some BFF you are."

Marshall shook his head, unable to form a worthy comeback in the time allotted.

Mary smiled. "So, how long do you think Stan's going to leave him out there?"

"Probably just waiting for us to make our getaway."

Mary crossed her arms and tilted her head. "I'm confused. Is that a reason for us to go or to stay?"

"Don't for one second think that the FBI is going to accept treatment like this from the Marshal Service!" Agent Asshole yelled.

Marshall feigned deafness. "We really can't hear you, agent," he yelled. "Maybe if you came down from there?"

The partners exchanged mischievous smiles.

The FBI man was not amused. "Ha. Ha. Very funny, you two."

Mary turned to her partner. "Don't suppose you think we'll get lucky and he'll jump?"

"I don't know," replied Marshall. "I think we exhausted our supply of lucky breaks today."

"Damn, that's too bad." Mary said with a sigh. All in all, she did feel pretty lucky. "Might as well go home then."

"Might as well," agreed Marshall. He looked up at the FBI man and waved. "Enjoy your evening, Agent O'Connor—though I don't know how you expect to get any work done from up there."

The comfortable silence returned as the marshals turned their backs on Agent Asshole and walked away.


End file.
